Mafalda's Plan
by ItWritesStuff
Summary: Hermione comes to the conclusion that falling victim to Mafalda Prewett's wicked schemes is not always a bad thing. Goblet of Fire AU.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Legend says that a Slytherin Weasley (err, Prewett? She's technically Molly's cousin...) that goes by the name of Mafalda was supposed to be introduced in _The Goblet of Fire_. She would rival Hermione for the 'brightest witch' title and she'd also have this habit of breaking rules and showing off. Later on in the series she'd act as a spy for the trio and listen in on conversations of Death Eater children. She comes from a squib and a muggle parents who have always had issues with the Weasley's, and she herself was described as being a generally difficult, unpleasant child. Rowling wrote her out in the end because her character complicated the plot and because Rita Skeeter filled her role perfectly well in GOF, but she still kind of did include her in the form of one Mafalda Hopkirk whom Hermione disguises as in _Deathly Hallows_ to get into the Ministry.

Anyway, overall I'm glad Rowling wrote her out but I'm still very much intrigued by her character (I mean, a _Slytherin_ of squib/muggle parentage related to the Weasley's!) and more so by her reaction to Viktor and Hermione's relationship. This is my take on it, and for simplicity's sake we'll pretend that there's nothing going on between Ron and Hermione in this AU. They still quarrel, of course, because they wouldn't be Ron and Hermione if they didn't, but they don't secretly have feelings for each other.

Long AN is long. Apologies. I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

"For the last time, Ron," said Hermione, coming to a halt in the middle of the busy corridor, her tone a clear indication that her patience was growing thin by the second. "Viktor and I are _just_ friends. There is absolutely _nothing_ going on between us, so will you _please_ stop asking?"

"I just want an autograph," he said, looking thoroughly disappointed. "You know Harry can't ask him, and he likes you so I thought–"

"He does not!" she quickly cut in, turning pink on the spot. "I told you, we're just friends!"

"Wait, so you and Krum are not dating?"

Hermione stifled a groan. The question didn't come from Ron. She didn't need to hear that voice again or to turn around to know who it actually came from. Ron's scowl said it all.

Mafalda Prewett, a distant cousin of Molly Weasley, stood before them in her Slytherin colors balancing thick books in her arms that were definitely too advanced for first years. She had the pale, heavily freckled skin and blue eyes of Molly's, but her hair was a rather dull, limp red. Her round glasses were too large for her head and would often slide down the bridge of her nose, and the thick lenses enlarging her eyes by threefold gave her a permanently inquisitive, cartoonish look.

Hermione had thought she was cute at first, and was more eager to get to know her upon learning that Mafalda was the top of her Muggle class and that she spent most of her time reading. All that changed when Hermione actually did meet her during the Quidditch World Cup, and to say that she was thoroughly disappointed would definitely be an understatement.

Mafalda was an awfully rude, unpleasant child that had a complete disregard for authority, on top of being a show-off and a horrible gossip. She spoke in a highly condescending manner regarding Mr. Weasley's job, and didn't care if he was in hearing range, while criticizing Molly's cooking and loudly pointing out all of Ginny's flaws whenever Harry entered the room. A lot of times she got Ron and Ginny or Percy and Charlie or Bill and the twins fighting out of boredom, and once she even managed to pin Ginny and Hermione against each other.

Mafalda was also largely responsible for starting and spreading the rumor that Hermione and Viktor were dating. Hermione had made a point of ignoring her ever since, more troubled by the unwarranted attention and abuse of too many obsessive fangirls than the actual rumor. If anything, she'd rather it _wasn't_ a rumor.

"Well, _you_ ought to know, seeing as you started this silly rumor," replied Hermione crossly.

"And I thought you of all people would appreciate it," said Mafalda, looking snubbed. "Really, Granger, I was doing you a favor by eliminating your competition. Do you even know how many _gorgeous_ women are after him? I really thought you liked him, seeing as you were being all girly and giggly at the ball–"

"I was _not_ giggly!" gasped Hermione, turning pink. "You weren't even there, how on Earth would you know?"

"I have my ways," she said with a smirk, making Hermione's fumes rise at the blatant disregard for rules and the consequences of breaking them. "Anyway, don't worry your pretty little head over it, Princess Granger. I'll talk to Griselda Hopkirk, seeing as you obviously _don't_ like him."

"You– what? Griselda Hopkirk? What's any of this got to do with her?"

Griselda Hopkirk was a seventh year Slytherin. What made Mafalda so confident that Griselda would give a first year related to the Weasley's the time of the day?

"Like I said, Granger. Don't you worry about anything." There was something devious about the way Mafalda was smiling up at her. It made Hermione very, very nervous. "Just to confirm, though. You _really_ don't like Viktor Krum, right?"

Hermione hugged her books tighter to her chest, feeling Ron's curious eyes on her and resisting the urge to bite her lip. "Of– of course not! You started the rumor, you of all people know it's not true."

"Just checking," she said with a shrug. "Wouldn't want you coming after me for something else later. Well then, I have to go to class! See you at lunch, Granger, cousin dearest!"

She then sauntered off without another word, leaving Hermione gaping after her. What exactly did she mean by 'something else'?

Mafalda's plan unfurled around lunchtime. Griselda Hopkirk, whose skirt appeared to have shrunk a few inches while the top button of her shirt went mysteriously missing, was confident when she walked towards the Durmstrang students on the Slytherin table and took the empty seat next to Viktor. He acknowledged her with a polite nod at first, but then she said something that made him turn away from Hermione. He gave her a reply and whatever it was it made her throw her head back and laugh, exposing the smooth tanned skin of a rather lovely neck. It didn't help that she also had a pearly smile that seemed contagious enough to make him smile back. At some point in their conversation she felt comfortable enough to occasionally lay a hand on his wrist resting on the table. She nodded along when he started talking again, and Hermione noticed even from the distance her fingers gently squeezing his wrist as her free hand played with a lock of her dark, smooth hair.

Griselda Hopkirk was truly beautiful, Hermione realized with a twinge. The majority of the male population of Hogwarts' were perhaps right with their obsession with her plump lips, smooth tanned skin, slanted hazel eyes, full breasts, and long shapely legs. They were all things worthy of a celebrity athlete's attention. They were all things Hermione _didn't_ have.

"You alright, Hermione?" asked Harry, sitting in front of her with Ron, both oblivious to her inner turmoil at the sight of the couple two tables ahead.

She shook her head. She didn't realized that she was gaping at the scene. "I just remembered something. I have to go."

She quickly got up and left the Great Hall, ignoring her friends' befuddled expressions and the smug smile of Mafalda Prewett from the Slytherin table. Her throat was closing up and her eyes were watering. She absolutely refused to cry in public, _especially_ over a boy, even if she really did like him. She needed to go to the library. She needed a distraction.

 _They're really all the same,_ she thought bitterly as she pushed open the heavy oak doors of the library. _They'll compliment you and dance with you and almost kiss you until the next best thing comes along. Really my fault for thinking a_ celebrity _would be any different._

It took a while, but she eventually managed to channel her hurt and anger into her work. By the time the lunch hour ended and more students starts filing in she had gone through her Ancient Runes and Arithmancy homework. She was just about to start with Transfiguration when a light thud alerted her to Viktor's presence. He had books from the restricted section and was just making himself comfortable on the chair facing hers.

"That seat's taken," she said coldly, her eyes glued to an open book she wasn't actually reading. "Both seats are taken, actually," she added when he moved his books to the empty space next to his seat.

He nodded. He grabbed his books, got up, walked around the table and sat on the chair next to hers.

"That one's taken, too!" she said, glaring at him as he propped open one of the books.

He raised a brow, then pointed at the empty chairs facing them. "For Potter and for boy with red hair, yes?"

"And Ginny."

"She is having class now."

"Oh, so now you know her schedule?"

"No, she is telling me when I asked her where you go."

"Still!" she huffed, purposely shoving her books into his space and nearly knocking his own books off the edge of the desk. "I need this space for my books."

"Share," he commanded, shoving her books back into her space, a hint of an amused smile on his face.

She was only further infuriated. "There's plenty of empty desks around, Viktor!"

"I don't want them."

"They're literally all the same."

"No, this is better. I like this one better."

"And pray tell what makes this particular desk any different?" she asked shrilly.

"Better lighting?" He shrugged. "Also is better because you are sitting here."

She blushed, then cursed herself. He was getting nice and friendly with Griselda Hopkirk just an hour ago!

"Fine then," she said, angrily slamming her open books shut and shoving them into her bag. "You can have the bloody desk."

He frowned, his amused smile all but gone. He placed a gentle hand on her wrist to still her movement. "Are you upset with me?"

"Of course not," she said, wrenching her wrist free to hoist her bag over her shoulder. "Why should I be upset with you? It's not like you promised me anything, or that anything happened to allude to some kind of a promise. I've got better things to worry about, anyway, more _important_ things like school."

He stared at her as she rolled up her parchment and screwed the lid of her ink bottle shut. "I don't understand. Maybe I am forgetting your birthday?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Viktor, do you even know when birthday is?"

"Of course I do," he said defensively. "September 19th, 1979. You are now fifteen."

"You can do math. Wonderful."

She knew she was being exceptionally rude and that he at least had the right to know why, but she was too upset to care. She forced herself out of her own comfort zone, knowing very well that he's older and famous and could most likely get any woman he wants, and he responded by making her believe that he felt the same. He was the first boy she actually liked and he hurt her.

She would normally rise above what she considered to be childish behavior, but she was humiliated and she wanted to be petty for once and make him suffer a little.

He followed her into the deserted Muggle studies section. "Please, tell me what I did wrong."

His expression was so concerned and anxious that she almost relented. She had to remind herself once again that he's in the wrong, that he broke her heart and that he doesn't deserve her kindness no matter how sincere he appeared to be.

"Nothing, Viktor," she replied impatiently, pretending to browse the shelves and then slapping his hand away when he went to grab a book out of her reach. "I said I'm fine!"

He looked at her, wide-eyed and wounded. This time she actually did look away in shame.

"What is wrong?" he asked, tilting his head to look at her face. "I will not know if you don't tell me, Herm-own-ninny."

Something in her snapped at hearing him mispronounce her name. She glared up at him, uncaring about exposing her tearful eyes or trembling lips or slightly quivering voice. "You know I'm beginning to wonder if you can actually pronounce Griselda's name right."

"Griselda?" he frowned, now confused. "What about her?"

"Oh, so you _can_ pronounce Griselda's name perfectly well but not mine?!"

"You are upset because I can't say your name?" he asked, a semblance of relief washing over his face. "Is simple solution, Herm-own-ninny, you teach me!"

"For goodness' sake, it's HER-MY-OH-KNEE!"

"Ok, ok!" he said, hastily holding up his hands in defeat. "Hermione! See? I said it correctly, much better than before. Is a very beautiful name."

"Is that what you told that cow at the Great Hall?"

He blinked. "There was a cow in the Great Hall?"

She made a frustrated sound. " _Griselda_ , Viktor, your cow-boob girlfriend with legs up to her waist!"

"Griselda is not my girlfriend," he said slowly, an eyebrow raised. "We are related."

She blanched, all her anger and hurt drained in one go. "what–? _R-related_?" she squeaked.

"Yes, we are related. Her mother is my mother's cousin."

"But– but you never told me!"

He shrugged. "I did not know. She is just telling me."

"But– but I– her clothes, I mean– I–" she stuttered helplessly, searching through her jittery thoughts for a plausible explanation of her behavior and coming up short.

He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the shelves, grinning. "You jealous?"

"N-no!" she said, blushing furiously. Then it occurred to her. " _Oh,_ this is all Mafalda's doing!"

She was so overcome with shame and guilt and rage that she couldn't tell which emotion was more dominant. How could she, _Hermione Granger,_ fall victim to a mere eleven-year-old's scheme?! She was solving complex riddles and brewing Polyjuice Potion in the girls' bathroom when she was her age, and just last year she was time-travelling to free a Hippogriff and save an escaped convict from the Dementor's Kiss. How is it that she lost her cool when a boy came into the equation?

"Little girl with big glasses?" he asked.

"Yes, that horrid little creature! She set me up!"

"What she do?"

"Well, first she started the rumor that you and I are–" she stopped herself, feeling her face heating up. "R-right, and then she did _this_! I– I don't know how to explain it, but she knew I'd react the way I did if she were to somehow dig up your family tree and look for the best looking, most affectionate cousin to cause all this misunderstanding and to rile me up. Oh, I just know she did it on purpose! She wanted to embarrass me in front of you all along. She doesn't care about my other male friends, she only did it with you because she knows I fancy you and I fell for it and now everything's spoiled!"

He caught her wrist mid-pace and spun her around to face him. She gasped. She couldn't believe it. He was blushing. "You like me?"

"N-no I don't!" she said quickly, then stopped. It was the exact same answer that got her into this mess. She refused to fall for it again.

Suddenly feeling brave and daring, and before she could come to her senses, she grabbed fistfuls of his coarse burgundy robes and pulled him down for a kiss. He stiffened and for a moment she thought she made the wrong decision, but then she felt his lashes brush against her cheekbones as his eyes slid shut. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground, making her heart soar the same way it did when they first danced at the Yule Ball.

They were both flushed and panting when they pulled apart and for the first time Hermione felt relieved that no student is interested enough to come near the Muggle studies section.

He chuckled.

"What?" she asked.

"Cow boobs?"

"Well they are ridiculously large…" she grumbled.

He tucked a loose curl behind her ear, smiling affectionately. "You are cute when jealous."

"It's not exactly my fault you're surrounded by all these women," she huffed.

"Many women are nice, yes, but I like you better," he said, kissing her cheek. "And I also like Mafalda."

" _Mafalda_?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded. "She is making you kiss me, so I like her."

Hermione hated to admit it, but he was right. She would've never done it under normal circumstances. What's worse, she not only owes Mafalda but she is also grateful to her.

She sighed, defeated. "Right, I did… just that." She smiled at him. "Now what?"

"This," he said, drawing her closer and pressing his lips to hers.

* * *

She had a blissful smile on her still-pink face when she returned to the Great Hall for dinner. Her hair was an absolutely chaotic mess, her tie loosened, and her lips a little red and swollen. She dropped down on her seat next to Ginny with a dreamy sigh.

Ron and Harry slowly exchanged looks. Ginny smiled into her drink.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" asked Ron. He then turned around in his chair as Viktor entered the Hall, looking surly as ever but as equally disheveled as Hermione. "What the bloody hell happened to _him_?"

"Who knows, Ron," she said absently, skipping all the main dishes and going straight for desert. "Truly, who knows…"

For once she wasn't bothered by Mafalda's triumphant, haughty smile directed at her from the other end of the Hall.

* * *

A/N: Just to clarify, Griselda was _not_ hitting on her cousin. She was being affectionate in a familial kind of way. Hermione obviously didn't know and she tends to over analyse things, especially when she's feeling insecure, so she saw it as Griselda being flirtatious and Viktor responding. Also I believe that Viktor and Hermione have at least had _one_ make out session in the library because... well, because they'd eventually run out of books to read and homework to complete...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This was requested ages ago by Nynaeve80 who wanted to see a jealous Viktor. It's been half-finished and collecting dust on my hard drive for the longest time, which is a little strange because I actually like this better than the original so you'd think it'd be posted by now. Thing is, though, jealous Viktor is difficult to write- for me he is, at least. He just didn't strike me as the kind of guy that would take his anger/jealousy out on Hermione. I mean in GOF Hermione didn't even know that he was jealous, as he straight up confronted Harry about Skeeter's rumours and pretty much continued treating her the same. I guess that's when I started seeing him as the best match for Hermione...

Ah, sorry, I was beginning to stray! Thousand apologies for the delay. Thanks again for the prompt, Nynaeve80 :D I had fun with this piece, despite the all the struggles. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Viktor found Mafalda sitting in his and Hermione's usual desk at the library. She was working diligently on a school assignment, scribbling away on a notably long piece of parchment with one hand while the other occasionally flipped through the book she was referencing. She looked nothing like Hermione with her large round glasses, pale blue eyes and red hair tied at the nape of her neck, but still Viktor couldn't help but be reminded of his girlfriend and how disappointed he was to find her missing from the library yet again.

He cursed Rita Skeeter for the hundredth time. He hasn't been able to spend as much time with Hermione since that ridiculous article. If anything it often felt like she was purposely refraining from going to the library to avoid running into him, and he couldn't understand why because if she knew him at all she'd know that he wouldn't believe anything written by the likes of Skeeter.

 _Does she, though?_ A sinister voice snickered. _Does she really know you? You've only been dating for a few months._

He blocked the thought. He refused to believe it. Hermione of all people knew him best, really the only one that actually bothered to get to the man beneath all that fame.

It helped him sleep sometimes, when he thinks back on their initial meeting. Other times, not so much.

He tried telling himself that they were simply nearing the end of the school year and that she was likely busy with schoolwork, notoriously studios as she is, but then he sees her ducking her head and hurrying past him and he can't help but doubt. The few times he managed to corner her she'd wiggled her way out with stammered excuses followed by a swift rescue from Ginny.

Every encounter left him confused and frustrated. Why does she keep trying to get away from him? He didn't for once think that there was anything going on between her and Harry Potter, not even after Skeeter published that damn article, and he doesn't care if the entire world is now aware of his relationship status. If anything he _wants_ the world to know that he's taken.

He's falling for her, fast and hard, and he doesn't want to hide it anymore. He doesn't want their relationship to end with the school year. He wants to see it grow into something strong and beautiful. He wants to tell her all this and more, but she's become so distant and elusive lately that he was beginning to think that their entire relationship was a figment of his imagination.

It's what made him seek Mafalda Prewett in the first place, the notoriously crafty eleven-year-old relative of the Weasley boy. She wasn't close enough to the trio to tattle on him, but she wasn't so distant either. If there's anything going on with Hermione, she would know.

He steeled himself, then slid into the chair facing hers. She halted her scribbling to look up at him. She then smiled pleasantly and leaned back in her chair, looking ridiculously childish yet somehow serious and business-like.

"Hello, Viktor," she purred, resting her quill on the desk next to her unfinished assignment.

He cringed. She looked absolutely adorable in her oversized robes and the large glasses magnifying her eyes, but the way she said his name reminded him of his family's middle-aged, inappropriately flirtatious lawyer.

"I was told that you're looking for me," she added, folding her hands on the table.

Why does he suddenly feel like he's talking to a high profile assassin?

"I was," he confirmed, hiding his discomfort. "I have question."

"Just a question?"

"About Hermione."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. Let me guess, you're wondering why Princess Granger is avoiding you like the plague. Is that correct?"

He narrowed his eyes. "How you know?"

She snorted. "Quite frankly I'm surprised no one else caught on."

He flushed. Was he really being that obvious with his infatuation, so painfully obvious that he was unknowingly scaring Hermione? He shook his head. No point speculating on that now. "Is something wrong with Hermione?"

"Perfectly healthy as far as I can tell. She could do something about that bush she calls hair, though."

He glared at her. "You are not answering my question."

"Nothing in this world is for free, Krum," she said.

How is it that an eleven-year-old talks like that? He was told to be wary of her, that she was far more cunning than she looks and that she had a way of making the most intelligent, most collected individuals crumble right before her eyes. His first kiss with Hermione was proof enough, but still he couldn't bring himself to believe all that nonsense and simply took it as an exaggerated account.

Not until now, at least.

He dropped a small leather bag full of galleons on the table between them. She glanced at the bag once but didn't pick it up.

"The price is information, Krum, not gold, though I'm impressed to see that you came prepared."

He retrieved his rejected bag with a sign. "What information do you want?"

"Just one," she replied, leaning closer to whisper conspiratorially: "are you by any chance being bought by the German National Quidditch Team?"

He leaned back into his chair, perplexed. "You want Quidditch information?"

"Fair price for the information you're asking for, don't you think?"

"Why Quidditch?" Why not, say, the Triwizard Tournament? Why not Durmstrang, or even Karkaroff?

She shrugged. "There are rumors and the press are getting desperate. Me, I'm only trying to make an extra galleon."

This time he dropped three full bags on the table.

She looked at them, a pale red eyebrow raised. "Not sure if you should be carrying this much money around, Mr. Krum. You could get mugged."

He sneered at the notion. "I can give you more than any journalist."

She sighed ruefully. "Oh I know you can, but it's just not as fun."

He shook his head. "Ask for something else. I cannot tell you this."

It was nothing more than a rumor, but discussing such matters would still be a violation of his contract. He couldn't risk it, not when his career was just beginning to flourish.

"Fine," she huffed. "Is Pyotr Vulchanov on steroids?"

He glared at her. " _Other_ than Quidditch, little girl."

"Surely you can answer that! I mean it's pretty obvious that he's using some kind of a muscle enlarging concoction."

"I will not. Pyotr is my teammate."

"Well aren't you bloody loyal," she grumbled.

He thought of a solution. "Ok, you only answer this. How many boys are liking Hermione?"

In other words, how many boys does he need to keep an eye on and then beat to a pulp for stepping a toe out of line?

"What am I, a bloody mind reader?" she scoffed, folding her arms over her chest indignantly. "Even if I am I wouldn't waste such talent looking into the minds of stupid boys. Though I do know that your precious Princess Granger is head over heels for some boy."

"What you mean?" he asked, failing to keep the panic from his voice.

"She's in love with someone, obviously."

" _Who?"_

"I'm not telling you, Krum," she said, a wicked, victorious smile slowly spreading across her features. "Unless you choose to answer my question, of course."

"Fine, fine!" he snapped impatiently. "Pyotr is not using steroids, or any potion to make muscles bigger. He is having good personal trainer. Now tell me name of boy Hermione is in love with."

"I was actually referring to my original question," she said, shaking her head in disappointment, "but I suppose I could give you something small for that answer." She then picked up her quill and smoothed down her partially rolled up assignment. "I wont tell you the bloke's name, but one thing I will reveal about him is that he's famous. Insanely so, I might add. Hope that narrows your list!"

There was a small, devious smile on her cherubic face that he failed to notice despite the close proximity. He couldn't see, hear, or feel anything besides pure rage boiling the blood in his veins and turning his vision red. He balled his hands into fists and rose to his full height, prompting the few students lingering by to scurry at the sight.

" _Potter_ ," he growled under his breath, his voice deep and sinister. He couldn't help it. Just a few days ago the boy had approached him himself and promised him that nothing was going on between him and Hermione. Was the Potter boy playing _Viktor Krum,_ Triwizard champion, fastest Seeker, heir to the Krum's ancient name, and Durmstrang Institute's finest pupil for a fool?

He stormed out of the library without another word, and then into the Great Hall and the infirmary and random empty classes, getting more agitated with every failure. There was no sign of the either one of the trio or their associates, but it was barely midday and it's a school day so they had to be somewhere in the castle. He even checked the greenhouse and peeked around the edges of the Forbidden Forest before getting hurriedly ushered away by the half-giant whom he couldn't really understand.

He barged into a dimly lit classroom deep in the dungeons just as the last fifth year scurried out. The potions master glanced up at him from his place on his desk, looking a little surprised but also irritated with Viktor's existence.

"Where is Potter?" he all but demanded.

The potions master's expression hardened. He rose gracefully to his feet, looking mighty sinister in his flowing black robes. "Get. Out."

Somehow even in his blind rage Viktor was able to recognise danger in the situation and take the most reasonable decision by swiftly removing himself from the room.

He found his target in the courtyard. He was with Hermione and the Weasley boy, the first leaning against him with her head resting on his shoulder. She was reading a book propped on her lap as Potter and Weasley talked. Viktor stalked towards them, his wand clutched tightly in his hand.

"Viktor!" Hermione gasped, scrambling to her feet and catching her book just as it was about to fall on the grass.

He walked past her stuttering without so much as a glance and stood before the Boy Who Lived.

"Potter," he spat the name, glaring menacingly at the boy's startled, confused expression.

"…Yea?" his green eyes flickered to his wand and his expression became wary. Viktor saw his hand ghost towards his own wand tucked beneath his outer robes. "You alright, Krum?"

"You and me, Potter. We duel now."

The boy next to him paled at the statement. Harry merely looked astonished. Hermione rushed to his side, her nervousness and mission to avoid Viktor all but forgotten.

"What's going on?" she demanded, looking between him and Potter. "Harry?"

He kept his eyes on Potter, still too hurt to look at Hermione. "You have your wand, yes? You come to the ship. We duel there. No staff supervision, no rules."

"I– what, you want to have a _duel_?" Harry sputtered, shaking his head. Still he didn't look afraid and it infuriated Viktor. "Why?"

He sneered. "Fine. We don't use magic. We use fists. I will crush you both ways."

"Viktor!" Hermione gasped, horrified. She grasped his arm with both hands and tugged hard in a feeble attempt to make him face her. "I can't believe I'm hearing this! What's gotten into you?" she stopped suddenly. "Are you… Viktor, are you _ignoring_ me?"

He finally snapped at hearing that. He turned his glare from Potter to Hermione. She flinched. He faltered at the sight, causing more pain than anger to leak into his voice when he spoke again: "I know. Is not a nice feeling."

She shied away from him, guiltily casting her eyes downwards and wrapping both arms around her book and pressing it to her chest. She looked like she was struggling to say something but he didn't give her the chance to utter another word. He turned back to the still-confused boy.

Something akin to recognition flashed in his green eyes. "Before you say anything," he said, quickly rising to his feet and holding both hands in surrender, "has this got anything to do with Rita Skeeter and her last article in the _Daily Prophet_?"

"You actually believe that vile woman?" Hermione asked incredulously. "Viktor, how could you!"

"Of course I don't believe Skeeter," he answered defensively, quickly averting his eyes when he saw hers tearing up. He couldn't let her break his resolve just yet. "Let's duel and end this now, Potter."

"Why?" he repeated. He was still calm and it was make Viktor's fingers curl into his palms. Any other boy his age would've been driven to tears by now! "Don't get me wrong, I'll duel you if you really want, but I've got a right to know why. Don't you think?"

Viktor narrowed his eyes. He was right, of course. Viktor wasn't one to pick fights for the sake of it, as most of his peers tend to do, but right now he appeared to be doing just that in front of _Hermione_ of all people and he hated himself more than any other living being for allowing it to get to this point. What's worse, their little quarrel has drawn the attention of every individual in the courtyard. All were quietly staring at the two champions with bated breath, waiting for one or both to make the first move.

Viktor was at a loss for words. If he told him the truth it would send the wrong message to Hermione. It would convince her that he merely sees her a possession of his rather than an individual that he cares for. And he truly does care for her in everyway possible, more so than he's ever cared about anyone in his entire life. He wants nothing more than for her to be happy, and if being with Potter was what made her truly happy then he'd step back. He'd just rather not get stringed along only to have his heart ripped to pieces in the end.

It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn't angry at all, but extremely hurt. He was jealous for sure, but he wasn't driven to challenge the younger champion by his anger but by a deep, overwhelming pain he's never truly felt from a girl.

He pocketed his wand with a sigh. Then he said to Hermione: "You are in love with Potter, yes? Then you be with Potter. You don't run away from me. I will be happy for you."

"What–! _Me,_ in love with _Harry?"_ she sputtered, looking to her equally dumbfounded friends. "Are you out of your mind?! Where– _how_ did you possibly reach that conclusion, if not from Skeeter's article?"

"You were ignoring me, Hermione, always running away from me and giving excuses when I did nothing," he said. "What you want me to think, that you become Prime Minister?"

"Th-there's a reason for that!" He was surprised to see her blushing faintly. "And we would've talked had you given me some space instead of making up your own wild assumptions and then attacking my friends without even trying to confirm anything!"

"I confirm, with Mafalda," he said proudly, only to realize his mistake when Hermione's incredulous expression quickly turned into that of fury itself. "She… she is telling me you love famous boy… is obviously Potter…"

He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to look away from her or to step back. He had not anticipated this. How is it that someone so small and dainty can look so terrifying at the blink of an eye, and how was _he_ of all people afraid all of a sudden?

"And _what_ did I tell you about listening to that horrible little troll?" she said, her voice dangerously low, stepping up towards him and making him instinctively lean back from the dark, angry aura emanating off of her in thick waves. It was then he knew that he _really_ messed up, and that he was in big trouble. He opened his mouth to respond but she wasn't finished with him just yet. "Do you honestly not know me at all to think that I would string you along like… like…" she shrieked, then gripped her dangerously thick volume with both hands. He brought his arms up just as she started thumping him with it at every word enunciated between gritted teeth, making him stumble backwards in the process. "Fastest – bloody – Seeker – in – the – world – Viktor – bloody – Krum!"

"Hermione, I– I will explain– I'm sorry– !"

"How did your mind wander to Harry _first?"_ she shrilled. "I mean– no, don't answer that!" she snapped, finally ending her assault and shoving the book in her bag.

He slowly lowered his arms when he felt that she wasn't going to attack him anymore. He wanted to say many things to her, the first and foremost a lengthy apology for his rash and rather idiotic behavior, but he couldn't force a single word out no matter how hard he tried.

That, and she still wasn't done with him.

"Really, Viktor, I thought you were smarter than that! I honestly don't know what's worse at this point, that you went to Mafalda for information rather than my actual friends or that I was beginning to fall for you!"

He finally found his voice at that. "Hermione, please–!"

"No!" she snapped, holding a finger up warningly, tone becoming more hysteric. "I thought you were different from all the other boys but it turns out that you're really all the same, all as dense and obnoxious and oblivious, resorting to violence when nothing works you way!"

"Hermione, please, I didn't… I only wanted…" he pleaded, desperately reaching for her hand only to have her quickly snatch it out of his reach.

"I said No!" she growled, sparing him one last glare before securing her bag on her shoulder and shoving past him towards the castle.

He waited for a heartbeat, quickly processing the situation. He then followed her indoors.

"I don't want to talk to you!" she cried when he stopped her in the middle of a deserted hallway. She must've allowed her tears to fall when she thought she was alone, he suddenly realised with a pang.

"Ok, then you don't talk," he said as gently and cautiously as he could, coming to stand in front of her to put a stop to her brisk pace. "I will talk. You only listen. Is that ok?"

"No," she sniffled, glaring at him stubbornly through her tears. "I don't want to hear whatever it is you have to say either–"

"You are right," he quickly cut in before she could escape him again. "I am stupid, Hermione, so stupid, but only because I love you and you make me worry and I don't think when I'm worried about you. I am so sorry. I never want to hurt you, Hermione, _never_ , I don't… I don't know why I challenged Potter. I was jealous, and stupid, but I hurt you so maybe I don't deserve you." He gently took both her hands in his, and when she didn't attempt to pull them back he placed a lingering, feverish kiss on her knuckles. "I am so sorry I make you cry. I promise I will never make you cry again. If you are still angry with me now I will leave you, but please give me another chance, or think about giving me another chance. You are the most important person in the world for me, if I loose you…" he swallowed with difficulty, shuddering at the possibility. "If I loose you, Hermione, I will have nothing. I will _be_ nothing."

She freed her hands to wipe her tears. His hands twitched to replace hers for the task but he tucked them behind his back, anxiously waiting for her decree.

"Did you mean it, when you asked me to visit you in the summer?" she asked timidly, her voice still a little croaky from all her screaming and crying. "Or was that just the adrenaline talking?"

He emitted what sounded like a mixture of a chuckle and a sigh of relief. " _That_ is all you were worried about?"

She glared at him, fresh tears brewing in her large brown eyes at his response.

"No, no, no! No more crying!" he said hastily, cupping her cheeks in his large hands and stopping the tears from flowing again with a single swipe of his thumbs. "I'm sorry. Yes, of course I mean it! I don't just say things like that."

"Well, I didn't know if you were serious about…about…!" she blushed. She gestured furiously at the both of them with her hands. "You know, about _us_. You're famous. You can have anyone. Once Quidditch season starts again you'll have tons of beautiful girls throwing themselves at you and who am I to stop you from taking your pick?"

"My _girlfriend_ ," he said confidently, causing her blush to deepen. He smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. "The smartest, kindest, most beautiful witch in the entire world. She makes me crazy sometimes but also very proud, and I want everyone to know that I am hers."

He closed the remaining distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, tentatively testing the waters first then finally relaxing when she steps on her toes and slips her arms around his neck to meet him halfway. He smiles when he tastes the familiar residue of coffee on her lips. How is it that someone so small can ingest more coffee than all of his peers combined in only one sitting?

"Oh, I don't know if my parents will let me!" she moaned when they broke apart. "I'm only fifteen and I've never travelled abroad on my own before."

"They can come too if they want," he said, playing with a stray curl that wrapped itself around his fingers.

She bit her lip, temped by the offer yet uncertain. "I- I don't know, Viktor, we really wouldn't want to impose–"

He snorted, cutting off her protests. "My parents already all know about you and they want to meet you more than watch me compete in the third task! I want you to see my home, Hermione, but I also want to meet your parents so if they come I will be even happier. We have many empty rooms they can choose from, bigger and cleaner than any Muggle hotel."

She smiled. "Alright then. I'll owl them tonight."

He grinned. Without warning he placed his hands on her waist, lifted her off her feet and spun them in a circle, eliciting a surprised squeal followed by protests drowned by hysteric, uncontrollable giggles. He brought her down just as students started filing out of classrooms to get to their next lesson. Just as she was about to notice the many eyes trailed towards them embracing in the middle of the hallway, Viktor leaned down and quickly captured her lips in his for another kiss.

The whispers rose tremendously. She squeaked and quickly pulled away, her face beet red.

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I told you. I was serious about us being public."

"Well, yes, I– I didn't doubt that, b-but not like this–!" she stuttered, looking conflicted between tearing herself form his arms or hiding her face in his chest.

He responded by kissing her again.

"Stop that!" she said, covering his mouth with her hands and narrowing her eyes at him when he responded yet again by kissing the palm pressed against his lips.

It only took the sound of the potions master's flapping black robes to get the murmuring, pointing crowd around them to disperse. He came to a slow halt next to them and Hermione quickly detached herself from Viktor, blushing even more than humanly possible.

"You're late, Miss Granger," he drawled, sneering down his large hooked nose at them. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor."

She blanched. "But- but Sir, _fifteen?"_

"Twenty."

She got the message. She threw Viktor a quick apologetic look before scurrying down the hall towards the dungeons. The potions master smirked after her.

"You are not there," said Viktor next to the black-clad professor.

His greasy head snapped towards him and the flinch-inducing glare was back in place. "It seems to me that Igor failed to inform you that it would be in your best interest to busy that useless mouth of yours with Miss Granger's and not with my business."

He shrugged. Truth be told he himself would rather do that than anything else…

The potions master continued his brisk pace down the hall towards where Hermione disappeared, calling behind his back: "See to it that he takes care of it."

"I will send him your love," he blurted without thinking.

Contrary to popular to belief, Viktor Krum isn't stupid. He knew then and there that he made an even bigger mistake than before, and that if he valued his life in the slightest he'd run the other way as fast as his clumsy feet could take him. He did just that, not sparing himself a second to see the expression on the now eerily still potions master.

* * *

Mafalda found him by the lake just as he was about to board the ship. He stopped when he saw her approaching, a curious yet wary look on his face. Without saying anything she reached into his robes and plucked one of the heavy bags of galleons she had previously refused.

"You owe me, Krum," she explained, smirking at his puzzled expression. "Princess Granger received a reply from her parents. They said Yes."

He laughed, then reached into his robes and plucked the second bag from its place on his belt and dropped it into her small hands. "Here, buy yourself something nice."

She weighed the two bags in her hands, looking immensely pleased with her prize. She dropped them into her bag. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Krum."

He regarded the tiny, brilliant menace, disturbed yet impressed with the knowledge that someone so young and with such limited resources had managed to cause this much trouble for the trio in the span of a few months. Perhaps it's time she meets her match.

He retrieved the last bag and dropped it into her unsuspecting hands, satisfied to see her falter and nearly drop the bag in her surprise and confusion with the unexpected bonus.

"For your troubles," he explained.

"Troubles?" she echoed, looking up at him inquisitively. "What troubles?"

He smiled sweetly, then bent down to her eye level. "You will see much of me in the future. You help me with Hermione, but you also make her cry. I don't like it when Hermione cries, and I am thankful for you but I did not forget that you make her cry twice. I promise you, little girl, that I _will_ have my revenge."

She didn't seem frightened by the prospect. If anything, she appeared a little too eager to accept the challenge.

She grinned, exposing large, pearly white teeth. "Give it your best."


End file.
